


you're moving so carefully, let's start living dangerously

by drinkingstars



Series: Together I think that we can make it [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Birthday Sex, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Protests, Quarantine 2020, Swimming Pools, canon boyfriends wow can you believe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24906865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkingstars/pseuds/drinkingstars
Summary: Froy scowls and levels a look at him that Richard is sure would have scared Froy shitless a month ago.Richardlikesthat.
Relationships: Froy Gutierrez/Richard Madden
Series: Together I think that we can make it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074077
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	you're moving so carefully, let's start living dangerously

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, dear fandom. I just suddenly realized I had a lot of feelings about this couple. it went from 'lol Madden's new twink' to 'oh shit they're pretty serious and I strongly support it!' in a few weeks or months. this happened to involve the two of them participating in multiple Black Lives Matter protests together, and so I have alluded to that as part of their story. there is also of course reference to some details of quarantine life, shutdowns, and the pandemic we have all faced together during this timeframe. 
> 
> just _barely_ Explicit, a little too explicit for Mature.

_February_

“I kind of can’t believe I’m still here,” Froy says, out of the blue on Saturday. 

Richard lowers his book, scowls slightly. He stretches one leg out and jabs his toes into Froy’s ribs.

“You got somewhere you need to be?” he asks, arching one brow.

Froy rolls his eyes and kicks with his heel, his leg bent and his foot planted alongside Richard’s chest. Richard yanks his book closer, protectively.

“No I just mean. Thought I’d come over for a couple of hot fucks and you’d kick me out…” Froy says casually, scrolling through his phone.

“That was the plan,” Richard intones, lowering his book again and looking across the room as if in thought.

“Hmm,” Froy mumbles, shifting somewhat uncomfortably under Richard, his knee wedged into his thigh. “You want me to go now?” he asks. It sounds half self-deprecating, half hopeful. He looks at Richard like he wants an answer, like he’s unsure if he’s taken his own joke too far.

Richard licks his lips and thinks a moment, drops his head to one shoulder and considers him. Froy squirms again, and Richard finally lets him off the hook.

“Nae...you’re alright. You can stay on a bit.” He says, generous, then winks, as if he didn’t notice Froy holding a fraught breath. “So serious,” Richard adds, outright laughing when he notices, grabbing Froy up and pulling him closer. 

Froy finally settles down, slowly lets the breath out. Richard feels him relax against his chest. He feels...heavy. Froy kisses his collarbone through his t-shirt, then lays his face against it. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.” That feels heavy too.

Richard holds him a moment in the quiet early afternoon, then reaches to lay the book down on the table. “Feel like walking down to the beach in a bit. Stop by the store. Come with me?”

Froy lifts his head, lets himself meet Richard’s eye this time. “Uh. Sure.” He shrugs. They could use a walk.

_March_

Richard stares at his feet in the shallow water, swirls his toes just to feel the swish over his skin. Froy paces on the other side of the glass between them, the ebb and flow of his voice, from English to staccato accented Spanish, growing louder, then softer again as he pads away down the hall. 

Richard knows just barely enough Spanish to order drinks in Puerto Vallarta, to order a boat ride in Fuerteventura, to pick up a guy in Barcelona. _Es todo_. He gives up trying to eavesdrop.

“My mom was freaking out about some crazy message she got on Facebook, a cousin I don’t know who works at the Pentagon or something,” Froy says after hanging up.

“I got one of those too. It sounds super fake, aye?” Richard scoffs, watches the water circle.

“That’s what I said! Anyway. They really are shutting things down and closing the airports. If I want to go home I have to go, like. Probably now. My mom is just...worried.” He flops down next to Richard on the narrow slate ledge of the pool. Richard rolls toward him, pushes his leg off the wall and into the water, annoying. Froy scowls and levels a look at him that Richard is sure would have scared Froy shitless a month ago. 

Richard _likes_ that. 

He tuts, presses a kiss to Froy’s shoulder in conciliation. “Well I can’t say I blame her worryin’ about you. She doesn’t know me...this must all seem. Odd, I guess.” Richard trails off, feeling weird and anxious and hoping it passes. “Well do ye wanna be in Texas? It could be a while. Weeks, maybe.”

“Are you going home?” Froy asks, squinting into the sun. His brow furrows when he’s thinking hard and he briefly looks older than he is.

Richard pauses. “What…to Scotland? No, the production company wants us to stay here. I’ve got the grand flat,” he gestures around at their comfortable, now well-lived in surroundings for the past month and some change. “My parents are traveling anyway. Dunno what they’ll do yet, so. Nothing to be alone for a rainy spring in Scotland for.” He spreads one hand, flat and firm, across Froy’s ribs, not pulling or pushing. “Whatever you like...s’fine if you want to go home, be with your family.”

Froy squints again, looks past Richard and into the sun where it hits the glass. “Whatever I like. A very Rich thing to say.”

Richard smirks. “How so?” 

“Proper. Politely vague. Non-committal but _just on the edge_ of dismissive…” Froy rattles off with a flat smile and an irritated look.

Richard laughs. “Non-committal! Oh you want an invitation, I see. Sharing my bed and my house for a month hasn’t been clear.”

Froy crosses his arms and holds his ground, dangles his foot over one side of the pool too, tangling it with Richard’s.

“Brat,” Richard clucks, reaching for the pocket of Froy’s hoodie, shoving his hand inside. “I, personally, would like you to stay here. With me. It’s safer, and I’ve uh --”

“ _Don’t_ say you’ve gotten used to having me around,” Froy cuts him off.

Richard leans in, hangs his head until he can butt Froy in the chest with it, until Froy relents and brings his arms up around Richard’s shoulders. “That’s a _lovely_ thing to say about a person, by the way,” Richard argues in his defense. “But it’s just that...I do like this. Whatever. It’s working and that’s never a given, is it?”

“Ahh,” Froy says, rubbing up and down his back carefully. “You underestimated my charm and wit.”

Richard sighs heavily. “Oh, no I think you overestimated my depth.” Froy pinches him on the side of his chest.

“ _Ow_ ,” Richard balks. He lifts his head and looks for Froy’s eyes, pouting. Froy shakes his head slowly side to side, then lowers to kiss Richard softly. “You should stay.” Richard says, definitively, when they part.

Froy holds his gaze, nods, leans in to kiss him again. “Ok. I’ll stay.”

\---

“What are you doing back there?” Richard asks, half asleep and in a lull from Froy softly fingering his hair. 

“Just looking at how your hair grows,” Froy says, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to say to the back of someone’s head. Maybe it is. “It’s getting long. You going to cut it?” He asks, curious. Richard feels a finger wrapped in a curl at his nape, tugging.

“Ummm, how? I pay people an outrageous amount of money to cut my hair and massage my scalp while I drink champagne. Can’t very well do that right now, can I?” He’s still toeing at the edge of sleep and not caring to think about haircuts and closed businesses and the global pandemic, at the moment. He’s had a lovely orgasm and taken his pill. Goodnight.

“I could cut it for you,” Froy says quietly, lets the little curl go with a soft springy feeling, drags his hand down Richard’s shoulder to knead the muscle there.

Richard snorts, a soft snore more than a laugh, pats Froy’s hand. “I dunno about that. We’ll see. If it gets too...floppy?” Richard tries. “You can look it up on YouTube, maybe.”

Froy lightly traces his arm, kisses his back as he drifts off. “I already know how. That’s why I’m looking at how your hair grows.”

_April_

Richard wakes Froy up on the morning of his twenty-second ( _ugh_ ) birthday with a blow job and a freshly baked vanilla concha from the panaderia at the corner. The ladies there are baking him a tres leches cake, too, and after a lot of back and forth with a battered old laminated menu, and Richard’s horrendous navigation of ordering and tipping double in Spanish, bringing from their catering kitchen a frankly alarming amount of enchiladas mole and some kind of veggie tamales that will be delivered later. 

Froy throws his arm over his face and blushes after he comes, Richard’s attention staining the light freckles across his cheeks with pink.

“You’re spoiling me,” Froy finally says, rolling off the bed and setting his feet on the hardwood. Richard fumbles around on the floor next to him for a pair of shorts so they can make the treacherous daily journey into the kitchen for coffee and pan dulce, then into the pool.

“It’s your birthday. Kind of the point, innit?” Richard says, pulls the shorts on and glances at his phone. _Things to do: call home; work out; LAUNDRY_. He might get to one of those today. Maybe. 

Richard drinks his coffee and nibbles at a cinnamon crescent roll thing he assumes is the least bad for him--it’s _clearly_ whole wheat, there are grains in there, he can _see_ them. He brushes up against Froy unnecessarily a few times while Froy takes some birthday calls from his mom and stepdad, then his dad, before realizing he’s hovering. Richard gestures that he’ll be outside in the pool, is headed that way when Froy catches him around the waist and presses his lips to the back of his neck, the digitized sound of his parents' voices on the other end of the phone clear in Richard’s ear. 

He puts on sunscreen, sits in the shade a few minutes to let it soak in, and slips into the pool. He floats a while, then, he must float away.

\---

Froy’s quiet splash and long shadow blocking Richard’s warmth pull him back to groggy consciousness. “Hi,” Richard says, bleary from half-sleep and full sun. 

“You’re gonna burn your fair, Highlands complexion out here,” Froy laughs, grabbing the edge of Richard’s float and dragging him into the shady corner. 

“Mmm. ‘M ok,” Richard murmurs, Froy’s wet hands cool down the sides of his body.

“You’re all...warm and sleepy,” Froy says, drops of water off his fingertips dripping on Richard’s forehead and neck. 

“Was very relaxed. Glad you’re here though. How was...everyone? Wish you a good birthday an’ all?” Richard asks, still waking up and focusing on Froy’s broad shoulders, his chest glinting with pool water. 

“Yeah. They’re good. More questions about you, this time,” Froy says, a teasing note in his voice.

“Oh yeah? Did you tell them I’m an old perv that sullied your innocence?” Richard asks, batting their usual game right back at him.

“Mm hmm, I did. In just exactly those words,” Froy says, sinking down lower in the pool and sliding his arms underneath Richard, holding him up easily in the buoyancy of the water. “No, I told them they can’t meet you because you’re in the witness protection program. But that you’re taking good care of me and you’re going to let me fuck you for my birthday,” Froy says.

Richard lowers his sunglasses.

“Oh yeah? Interesting. They must be very proud,” he clucks, holding onto the side of his float while Froy tries his best to tip him over. Richard kicks off, rights himself in the water after a brief struggle, and meets Froy’s lips, standing to their full height to wrap around each other. 

It’s not sweet kissing. It’s grabby, demanding, rough, entitled. Froy’s hands dig into the muscles of his ass, and Richard is fully onboard. “Oh yeah?” he repeats, Froy’s thumb catching at the drawstring of his shorts and tugging.

“Yeah. That’s what I want instead of a party,” Froy grins, pulls at Richard’s lip with his teeth, pulls at his hand excitedly.

Richard wraps fingers tight around his arm, lets himself be pulled along through the water. “Ok, sure. You can have a little topping. As a treat.” 

\---

Richard tells him to slow down and take his time, and Froy does, breathing warm and licking wet between his cheeks before slicking him open. Richard wouldn’t think he had done this much, before him, but Froy’s mouth says otherwise. He tongues, adds lube and fingers, tongues again and it makes Richard _wild_ for him.

A long fingertip breaches him and he gulps a bit of air. It’s been a while. “Be nice,” Richard says, feels himself tense a little, in spite of his arousal and eagerness. “Like I was, with you,” he says, feeling exposed, a little shy, mostly about his ass but maybe a little about the man with his face and fingers in it.

Froy nods his head, chin and tongue dragging along Richard’s ass and thrilling him, despite his sudden nerves. Richard’s toes curl as Froy eases two fingers in, sighs with contentment, maybe fascination. “You were _very_ nice. Maybe I’m not that nice,” Froy says. 

Richard groans, props himself up on his arms, looks back over his shoulder to see Froy stroking his cock in one hand, the fingers in and out of him with the other. Richard licks his lips. “I can take it. Either way.” 

Froy smiles and nods, candy sweet even when he’s trying to be filthy, and that’s somehow even _hotter_ to Richard, he thinks, without questioning it too much. He feels Froy press his hand, steady himself on the back of Richard's thigh, rub the head of his cock right up against him. “I know you can,” Froy says. 

Richard presses his face into the pillows, exhales as Froy pushes inside, fritters away all his nerves with the sparking muscle memory of pleasure, lighting him up from within.

_May_

“You’re sure you’re ok with going?” Froy asks for the tenth time. He’s pacing again, always anxious after looking at his phone too much, or talking to his mom. 

Richard grabs his hand, drags him to a stop. “Yeah, course I’m sure. Are you worried?”

Froy shakes his head, pauses as Richard strokes his thumb inside the palm of his hand. It calms him, calms them both. Richard briefly imagines: holding his hand, thousands of people, fists and arms raised. 

He shakes it off, focuses back on the moment they’re in. Froy shakes his head. “No, I’m not. Just wasn’t sure if you’d like, done this kind of thing before.”

Richard exhales softly through his nose. “Sweetheart, I’m Scottish. I was probably at Labour marches before you were born.”

Froy rolls his eyes. “Wow, keep scoring off that one.”

“I plan to,” Richard says, rounds up a bunch of things from the kitchen counter that he might need - vape (he’s _so close_ to being off it, really), extra masks, gloves, eye drops, anxiety meds for each of them, just in case - and shuffles them into Froy’s backpack. “Which part are you nervous about?”

Froy shrugs, pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I just figure this is probably different from Scotland. American cops…”

“Exactly. American cops is why we’re goin’,” Richard states, flatly and plainly. “You’re worried about me, or you? Or…” Richard asks, zipping up the backpack and setting it by their shoes. Froy leans in, lets a hand linger at Richard’s side.

“Us. All of us,” Froy sighs, heavily.

Richard nods. “I know. That’s why we’ve got to go. You convinced me before. I’ll convince you back if you need.”

Froy tilts his head at that, looks at Richard curiously. Richard holds his breath, feels a moment he’s not sure he’s ready for, forming hazily between them. Froy nods, tilts in and kisses the side of Richard’s head. “Thank you. Ok. Oh, wait,” Froy says, pulls away again to look down at his phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Richard asks immediately with raised brows. 

“This says if you’re quarantined with elderly family members...shouldn’t go out to protest.” Froy bites the inside of his cheek and tries hard to hide a half smile, but he’s not as convincing as he thinks. 

Richard just stares at him, blank. “Which airline for Dallas? American is it?” he asks, deadpan, giving Froy a little shove toward the door.

“I hate you,” Richard says as Froy’s arms wrap around him, backpack swinging and hitting him in the hip. 

“You love me,” Froy replies, simple, a fact. 

Richard doesn’t disagree, just hums, clicks the unlock button on the car. “Let’s go.”

\---

“Hey,” Richard says gently against Froy’s shoulder, many hours later. “You awake?”

Froy rolls over on his back, tucks his arm up against Richard’s side. “Can’t really sleep. Were you?”

“Not really. Just thinking. I want tae tell you something.”

Froy turns more onto his side, faces him in the dark room, quiet with the white noise of the air filter, the faint trickle of water from the fountain on the patio. “Ok.”

“I’ve, eh. I’ve said it before when I didn’t mean it. And I’ve not said it when I bloody well should have. And they both wind up hurting everyone. Ok?”

Froy turns over to face him. “It’s not...yeah, of course it’s ok. We didn’t, um...did I--”

“Because I think I do. I could. You know?” Richard says, carefully, his hand over his eyes like this will all end up ok if he can’t see what he’s doing. Just once, he’d like to see.

“Yeah,” Froy says, strokes his hand over Richard’s chest. “I didn’t expect you to.”

Richard blows out a gust of a laugh, a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I didn’t expect any of this.”

“I told you, you underestimated my charm and wit,” Froy says, sounds like he’s grinning and Richard turns toward him, shows his face and soft belly and kisses Froy’s mouth, his stupid teeth.

“An’ I told ye you underestimated how hot you are and how shallow I am,” Richard says, laughing lightly into the kiss.

“I hate to tell you this,” Froy says, pulling Richard on top of him. “You’re not that shallow.” 

_June_

Richard strokes a hand over his own belly, absentmindedly smiling at his friends’ birthday messages for him, their lofty wishes of good health, champagne emojis, and keto birthday cakes. 

He touches his stomach again. There’s definitely a thin but discernible layer of _something_ between him and his Marvel abs (last seen: London, some time in early February) that he suspects is composed entirely of vanilla scented pastries and local handmade tortillas. 

He and Froy do manage to get actual workouts in now and then, doing insane resistance band videos that make Richard whine, and jogging on the sand (not as fun as it looks) before dawn once the closures are lifted -- not to mention, fucking Froy uses every muscle in his body. 

He has a standing six-week ready notice from Amazon. He can shed it again in half that time, if he applies himself. 

But not today. He peeked over Froy’s shoulder a few days ago while he was perusing cake flavors, and none of them were remotely keto.

He stretches out in the sheets, luxuriously, lazily lets a hand fall around his cock. His boyfriend (ah, _fuck_ , that sneaks up on him) is nowhere to be seen at the moment, and it’s his birthday. He strokes a few times, just a light touch, drops his phone on the bed to skim the fingertips of that hand across his hip and groin. His touch feels nice, so he licks a few fingers and his palm, tightens his hand around himself. His eyes fall shut and he’s just starting to get into it, only a vague sense of wondering if he’ll make it or if Froy will find him like this first, fuzzy in the front of his brain.

“You shouldn’t be doing that by yourself,” Froy’s voice says from the hallway.

“Sweetheart, I know I shouldn’t but you were busy in the kitchen, so,” Richard says, batting his eyelashes and thrusting up a little into his hand, just for the show of it. Froy turns away again, sets something down on the closest table before coming back to bed.

“I left you alone for fifteen minutes…” Froy says, shaking his head and _tsking_ Richard softly. He settles next to him at his hip, loosely drapes his hand around Richard to give more touch, more friction. 

“Yeah, well...most important fifteen minutes of the day, here,” Richard says, gripping Froy’s hand tight around himself, glancing up at his mouth suggestively. “So far, anyway.”

“Uh huh, so far,” Froy says, drawing back his hand and leaning over Richard to kiss him, mouth sweet and sunny and wet with juice. “I was making you birthday breakfast,” he explains before ducking his head and taking Richard between his lips.

Froy sucks cock like he does everything else, excited but earnest. Richard tucks his hand into his hair, getting long enough to really grab onto now, weaves his fingers through it and just holds him, happy and relaxed. His head falls into the pillows and Froy licks, kisses around the head of his cock before taking him down, and deep. 

“Mmm, breakfast,” Richard hums. “Happy birthday to me.”

\---

“What else do you want to do for your birthday?” Froy asks, once they’ve come and cleaned up and eaten banana, oat and egg white pancakes in bed.

Richard drapes his hands behind his head, settles. “I know for a fact you’ve got some plans, so. C’mon, the game is afoot, aye? Let’s have it then.” 

Froy feigns innocence for just a beat and then bounces upright in bed. “Ok...it took a little snooping and a little work. But I did get you something.”

“Oh yeah?” Richard sits up excitedly. 

“Yeah. I hope it’s ok. I got you something that I can’t give you myself,” Froy leads him into it, cryptically.

“Two cocks?” Richard pipes in without missing a beat.

Froy narrows his eyes. “Why are you like this?”

“I just am. Dunno,” Richard giggles, clutches at Froy’s thigh and heaves him closer, kissing him roughly and then rolling him off beside him. “Ok, serious. I’ll be serious. _Serious_ birthday plans.”

Froy looks up at him from where he lays on his back. He has big, kind eyes, thoughtful, anxious, ready to give Richard anything he can. It scares Richard a little, the little flip in his chest. 

Froy takes a bracing breath. “I got you people.”

Richard arches a dubious eyebrow. “People. Ok?”

“I messaged some friends of yours. Which was a bit tricky because they don’t know me, really.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. You know, in normal times…” Richard trails off, bites at a nail, nervy again as he wonders what Froy means by _people_.

“In normal times I’d have met your parents, and Jeremy and Simon, and been out to the Lake District, sure,” Froy says, waves a hand like he’s heard this bit before and isn’t entirely sure he believes it. Richard cocks his head and scrutinizes that, tries to meet him in that feeling.

“The flipside of that, just so you know...is this is the longest I’ve ever got to spend getting to know someone,” Richard says, slow and thoughtful, brushing his hand over Froy’s.

“And?” Froy asks, an eyebrow going up hopefully.

“And, I like it. I think it was good for us. For me. I kinda...rush and don’t think sometimes.”

“I came for a weekend and never left,” Froy reminds him, laughing and settling his hands at the notches of Richard’s hips where the sheets are falling off him. “That wasn’t rushing?”

“Nae. That was circumstance, and dumb luck. Like, _really_ dumb luck because I was too dumb to see this coming. And I should have done,” he keeps going, soothing, and Froy leans over into his touch, stretches his neck closer for Richard to kiss him. “Love you,” Richard rasps, barely a whisper.

Froy’s breath catches and he pauses, lips still against Richard and Richard waits, just holds that breath with him.

“Wow. Not even _my_ birthday. Shit. Love you too,” Froy says, a little shaky in his voice but he gets it out. He clears his throat. “Anyway. You have some friends coming by later. Mostly ladies, because I’m petty as hell, and because I know you need your girls around to make you feel properly adored.”

Richard laughs out loud and full from his chest. “God, you really do know me. Ok...tell me who all is coming.”

\---

Richard moves a chair out to the side yard and gets comfortable, beams when he sees Froy coming out the glass doors carrying a tray. He’s got a glass of champagne, topped up to a proper birthday level, and the fancy hair scissors Richard insisted on ordering if they were really going to do this.

“Lovely service here,” Richard practically purrs, stretching toward Froy as he sets down his tray and leans over to kiss him. “Five stars,” Richard says, grinning against his lips. Froy hums, places a glass of champagne in Richard’s hand, and gets to work.

“A little shorter than last time, yeah? So it looks crisp,” Froy asks, running his hands through the top of Richard’s hair and sifting through the strands.

“Yeah, s’fine. You did good before. I trust you,” Richard says, sips his champagne and closes his eyes against the sun.


End file.
